“I never wanted to be commander—sometimes I still don’t. I felt forced into the election and had no clue how anything in this organization worked. I’ve had doubts about my ability to lead. Doubts regarding whether I’ve been used as some sort of pawn in this war. I don’t know why I’m a Warm Soul. I’m just a regular guy from Larkwood who dragged myself through the work week, only to drown out my problems with drugs and alcohol. I’m no one special.
“What I’ve learned since becoming commander is that each and every one of you is special. My title gets me respect, but it is undeserved. You are all the real heroes in this organization. You’re the ones who have dedicated your entire lives to this cause—I arrived late to the party.
“On the other side of the state border waits the final stop of our destiny. I don’t know how it will play out—we might even fail. I don’t want to assume anything. I have the distinct opportunity of closing this out by myself. And even if I succeed, I want to tell you now that all the credit belongs to you. I’ll be the one on TV giving interviews, but it’s you who made it happen. Give yourselves a round of applause for coming this far, and let’s get back on that jet for Idaho.”
The team erupted, shouting in the desert where no one else would hear them, alone in the world for this intimate moment with their leader.
Martin rejoined them, Alina stepping forward as she waved her cell phone in the air. “I recorded the whole thing—the organization deserves to see that speech after we kill Chris.”
Martin laughed and felt tears welling in his eyes. Tears of joy, something he couldn’t recall having ever experienced since Izzy’s birth. The cheering had died down as the rest of the team started back for the jet. Martin looked back to the remains of the store one final time, filling his soul with the warmth it needed after an excruciating morning.
It’s actually happening. Keep going.
They filed onto the jet and took their seats, Alina sitting next to Martin as she scrolled on her cell phone. “The situations are getting a bit out of control, Commander. Just thought you should know.”
“How so?”
“Fortunately nothing has turned violent, but the numbers are growing and it’s officially grabbing the attention of national news channels.”
She held up her phone that showed the homepage of USA Today, the headline asking the simple question of: Who are they?
The image showed a middle-aged man bundled up for winter weather, his mouth wide open mid-shout. Several signs could be seen in the background, blurred out except for one that said We’ve had enough!
“What are they saying?” Martin asked. “I’m sure reporters have tried talking to them.”
“The article says that the protesters have remained mum on what they’re actually protesting. They have answered with questions or blanket statements that make no sense to anything happening in the world. The chants don’t make sense, the demographics aren’t telling of what is actually happening. The American media is having a tough time figuring this out. The governor of California has called in the National Guard to Los Angeles, where they estimate 15,000 people have converged onto Hollywood Boulevard.”
Martin chuckled. “The National Guard?”
“I guess they feel things are rowdy—there’s an energy from the crowd that feels rather hostile.”
“I can’t lie—I’m impressed. All these protests and no one has outed us, even by accident. We truly are dedicated to keeping our secret, even if we’re marching through the country causing a scene.”
“It’s more than the United States. Mexico City is reporting similar protests, along with Toronto, Panama City, and San José.”
Martin nodded. “We’re fine, right? What would actually happen if the secret slipped out?”
Alina shrugged. “We don’t know for sure. Tests were done in the 80s to see, but results were inconclusive. We approached random strangers and told them about time travel, just to see how they’d react. Some nodded and kept walking, some asked if we were on drugs. And others asked to join. I think if something this widespread were to leak today, most of society would call bullshit and form their own conspiracy theories regarding who the people protesting really are. Social media has actually made it quite easy for us to brush something like this under the rug. I’m sure we have teams right now already spinning the stories online to misdirect the general public. Hell, you can even claim it’s all fake, and half the world will believe you. Unless someone sees something with their own eyes, who are they to argue the facts?”
“I didn’t realize we even had a social media team.”
“It’s just the technology team. Obviously we don’t have a presence online as an organization, but many of our members enjoy fitting into the regular world, blending in, just the way we like it.”
“I see.” Martin looked out his window, the sun starting to set on this day that seemed like it would never end. They were already starting their descent into the small town of Three Creek, Idaho, nerves bubbling within his guts as the ultimate showdown loomed.
“Uh, Commander?” Alina said after having fallen silent while she returned her attention to her cell phone. “I just got word that Chris has fled the property.”
“What?!” Martin jumped out of his seat, as if he could do something about this recent development.
“We’ve had eyes on the house all day—all week, in fact—just to make sure nothing changed. Apparently Chris had left earlier in the day and returned by landing his jet near the house. He ran inside for a couple of minutes before getting back on and taking off—this time with no one else on board besides the pilot.”
“Do we know which way he went?”
“Kind of. Our team only had a single-engine plane so they couldn’t keep up with the jet too well. He was heading north, and we had another team with a jet ready in Twin Falls to tail him. We have eyes on him again and they believe he’s headed for Canada based on the trajectory of the flight so far.”
“Dammit,” Martin said through gritted teeth. “What can we do? I don’t want to lose ground.”
“Don’t worry about that. Our team will tail him all the way to the North Pole if that’s where he’s going. Once he lands, we’ll know exactly where and can make arrangements. We’re already descending, so we might as well have a look around his property and wait until we get word. No point in flying around in circles if we don’t know where we’re going.”
“How far behind is our team from Chris?”
“About ten minutes. Assuming they land at an actual airport and not the middle of nowhere, we should be landing right behind.”
Martin nodded. “Tell your team to shoot the pilot right when they land. That’s an order. Do not let that pilot get back in the air.”
“Yes, sir.”
Martin called for attention on the jet, every head turning to him as he spoke from the front of his seat, Alina still seated beside him as she sent a text message on her phone.
“Everyone get comfortable—we’re staying on the jet a little longer than originally planned. I’ll explain once we land, but for now we need all of you to make sure your guns are loaded and get into your protective gear.”
They all moved without question, returning to their seats. Martin saw Arielle shooting a glance over to Alina, trying to get a read on the situation, but failing. He fell back into his seat and leaned his head against the window, the day seeming to only get longer with each passing second.
Where are you hiding, Chris?
Chapter 16
Colin landed the jet in Angle Inlet, Minnesota, the northernmost point of the contiguous United States. Chris had a lifetime of scouting under his belt to find the perfect location for his ultimate hideout. Barrow, Alaska was remote, but it was still in the open, and once the Road Runners learned about the location, they had no issue building their own headquarters nearby.
Angle Inlet, however, was plenty different thanks to its official population of ninety residents. Chris owned a cabin in the th
ick of the woods, lacking any neighbors within a two-mile radius. The town sat in a unique geographic location, a peninsula in the Lake of the Woods, where the United States and Canadian borders were drawn in the water. Even though the town was part of Minnesota, one could only drive there needing to first pass through Canada, as the peninsula was attached to the mainland of the Great White North.
When Chris discovered this little secret on the map it immediately became his favorite location should he ever need to hide for his life. That time had come, and the wheels were in full motion for him to spend at least two weeks in the cabin, waiting for the Road Runners to give up their search.
Part of the original plan, unfortunately, was to leave either Duane or Mario in charge during his absence, considering cell phone reception was spotty and the cabin lacked an internet connection.
When they touched down, though, Chris wasn’t worried about any of these small details. Instead, he fumbled through the first-aid kit stored on the jet and pulled out a syringe, sticking it into the puffy vein on the back of his hand, drawing blood out in a painful ceremony. He hadn’t felt such physical pain since the day he had transformed into the Keeper of Time, and let out a heavy pant for breath when he finished, clutching his hand and rubbing the area before applying a bandage.
“Colin,” he cried, the pilot appearing within seconds in the cockpit doorway. “I need you to do me a big favor.”
“What is it, sir?” Colin’s eyes danced around the jet, bulging at the sight of the syringe and the few drops of blood that had splattered onto the floor.
“As you know, I’m not okay right now—that’s why we’re here. I need to inject my blood into your body, and if I can hide out for at least forty-eight hours I know I’ll be in the clear and back to normal. After we do this I want you to fly wherever you want and lock yourself inside until you hear from me. Do you think you can do that?”
“Anything for the Revolution, sir.” Colin offered an aggressive nod as he spoke.
“I appreciate that, as does the entire organization. Just so we’re clear, you should not discuss this with a single soul. If anyone finds out we did this, the Road Runners will be after you. And if they killed Sonya, then they’ll have no thoughts about sparing you.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Perfect.” Chris stood up and gestured with his arm for Colin to sit down in his seat. “Roll up your sleeve and relax. It’s just like any shot, and won’t have any lasting pain.” Colin sat down and did as instructed, taking a deep breath when Chris waved the syringe full of his own blood in the air.
“You’re our last hope,” Chris said moments before poking the needle into Colin’s arm. He pushed all the blood out and removed the needle with the ease of a nurse who had done the same routine dozens of times each day. “I suggest you wait about ten minutes to make sure your body doesn’t have any sort of reaction. It shouldn’t, but it’s good to be safe. I’d hate to go through this just for you to fall asleep at the wheel and crash into the lake.”
Chris chuckled after saying this, but Colin didn’t so much as a return a polite smile to the morbid joke. He understood the gravity of the situation and was in no laughing mood. Chris returned the syringe to the first-aid kit and snapped it shut, clapping his hands.
“That’s it?” Colin asked.
“That’s it. You have some sacred blood in your system now. I suggest you get this bird ready to fly and hide like I suggested. Remember, if you let out a peep about this, you’ll catch a bullet to the head within twenty-four hours—you can take that to the bank, my friend. Hopefully if everything plays out the way it should, you and I can resume our normal lives.”
“Isn’t this blood in me forever now?”
“Of course, but I just need you to stay safe temporarily. Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll work on finding a more permanent successor to help stretch my life out longer.” Chris’s stomach grumbled and he looked down to it with a grin. “I should get going now, and you should too.”
“Yes, sir—best of luck. I hope to see you soon.”
“Oh you will, and I look forward to it.” Chris winked and started for the door, waiting for Colin to open it. When he did, a gust of cold wind blew in, but it didn’t bother Chris. He had too much on his mind to worry about the weather, and would be within the confines of his cabin in a few minutes.
He walked down the steps, his hunger and vulnerability the furthest things from his mind. A new confidence had grown now that he had arrived to Angle Inlet, and that was the point. He never planned to live in fear, only to live in safety until the madness passed. The Road Runners could only cover so much ground and search for so long until they gave up. Chris had a three month supply of food and water in his cabin, and wouldn’t have to step foot outside for any reason.
It appeared snow had fallen a couple days earlier, patches of frozen powder scattered about the airport grounds outside of the covered hangar. The temperatures could drop into single digits, sometimes even into the negative, during the winter months, but this night was a brisk twenty degrees, good enough for the walk Chris had to endure.
He moved quickly from the hangar, passing two other jets on his way out. The cabin was deliberately built one mile south of Northwest Angle Airport. Chris had to walk the first half-mile down Inlet Road before continuing straight into the woods for the latter half. It could only be reached on foot this way, intentional to give any potential stalkers a hell of a time keeping up, let alone explain how to find the cabin. Chris always figured if his life came down to this situation, he’d be able to play the land to his advantage. He had spent the summer of 1981 living at the cabin, roaming the woods for eight hours each day to learn the area, even carving secret symbols into the trees that only made sense to him, to help navigate back to the cabin.
“Good luck catching me here, Martin Briar,” Chris said as he trudged down the road, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hand on the pistol tucked in his waistband. His old legs cried out for help, but they’d have to wait for rest that would be plentiful once he arrived to the cabin with nothing to do but hunker down inside.
While it wasn’t a vacation by any means, Chris found himself looking forward to the isolation and temporary absence from the day-to-day operations of the Revolution. He didn’t worry about his organization. The Road Runners might blow up a couple more of their offices, but that would only be a distraction. All they wanted at this point in the game was Chris. He’d be surprised if they actually spent their time and energy on anything else besides catching him.
He reached the point where the road broke east toward the small town, but he kept forward, stepping into the uneven terrain of the woods. Chris stopped and unzipped the duffel bag, pulling out the flashlight and flicking it on to shine on the non-existent path ahead. The first 200 yards were easy, fairly flat and light in terms of trees. It wasn’t until he hit the heavier populated trees that he’d have to locate his secret messages for guidance.
Chris continued on, unaware that back at the hangar, a Road Runner had already climbed the steps to his jet and shot Colin in the head, leaving him dead in the cockpit, face down on the control panel. That same soldier had dashed out of the jet and trailed behind Chris, following his every move, recording it on a cell phone to have the route saved for later reference.
He never heard the footsteps far behind him, his own feet crunching in the random patches of snow and echoing in the woods. Chris had no reason to look back once the road was out of sight, a costly mistake as he headed toward the cabin for a false sense of security.
Chapter 17
Martin and his team flew into Winnipeg later that night. Claudia Larsen, the Road Runner who had shot the pilot and followed Chris through the woods, had her eyes on the cabin and confirmed Chris had gone inside. She had to leave the property for a 45-minute round trip into town in order to gain better cell phone reception to place the call to Alina. Claudia tried uploading the video she had recorded of the route to the cabin from the
airport, but it failed with each attempt.
Martin promised Claudia some relief, sending another soldier to meet her at precisely six in the morning to relieve her after a late night of standing in the freezing weather. He wanted to take zero risks, and planned to make his move the next night once the sun set. No one on their team had any familiarity with Angle Inlet, and they wanted to conduct some research over the course of the day to get familiar with the layout and any potential issues with carrying out this deadly mission.
The Road Runners had an office in Winnipeg, but no one dared go near it, fearful of revealing their presence to the members and causing a ruckus for the entire continent that was still under an extended blackout authorized by the Council. Alina had kept tabs on her email inbox, only reading messages, refusing to send any responses until the mission was done. After the initial four-hour blackout had passed without receiving word from Martin, the Council extended it another two hours, and repeated so all throughout the evening, and now as the clock approached midnight.
They had arrived in Canada shortly after 9 P.M. and immediately pushed all seats toward the edges of the cabin to allow more space for sleeping bags on the floor. It was crowded, but they had no other options unless they wanted to deal with checking into a hotel at the late hour.
Martin assured them that regardless of what happened, they’d all be back home in twenty-four hours, and he encouraged everyone on the jet to think about where they wanted to go on their mandatory vacation once the mission ended. The discussion lifted the spirits of everyone on the team, chatter running rampant about dream trips to Europe, the Caribbean, and Hawaii.
Martin didn’t expect anyone on the jet to work throughout the night, but nearly everyone did, opening their laptops and searching the maps of Angle Inlet provided on the internet. He did the same, sipping a rum and Coke as he fought off the idea of what he’d be doing tomorrow night.
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